Home at the End of the World
by Aelan Greenleaf
Summary: A gate malfunction sends them to a planet far beyond their own stars. Isolated from their home, the colonel and the major struggle to survive and to deal with the feelings they've kept buried for so long.
1. Day One

**Okay, some ground rules about this story: I'm taking some liberties with established gate physics. The science is not the point of this particular story, though don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for science. So, if you would deign to do so, suspend your disbelief for the time being. As far as timeline goes, I'm thinking end of season four, start of season five, though there are no specific spoilers or episode tie-ins.**

**Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading. :) **

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><p>All she could remember about the moments before her body slammed into the ground was the feel of an electric current on her skin, and the sound of the lightning hitting the gate. The electricity in the air had been palpable; she swore she felt her hand cut through it like a knife through butter as she ran full tilt for the event horizon before her. And then her world was a confusion of sensations, much like it always was as she stepped through, as her body dematerialized and everything she was and ever would be was transported to a land far beyond her homeworld's stars.<p>

As she abruptly made contact with the cold, rocky surface of this new planet, sensation returned to her newly reconstituted body once more. Her arms screamed out in pain, bearing the brunt of her impact onto the solid mantle of this new place. She gasped for air, all breath lost as she struck the bare earth. She pushed herself over onto her side, grimacing through almost unbearable pain as she righted her weapon and utilized her scope, unsure of where exactly she had arrived.

Turning her adjustment into a complete roll, she got onto her feet as soon as she realized she wasn't in immediate danger. There was no high-pitched squeal of a Go'auld weapon, no cocking of projectile weapons – no mechanical or technological sounds at all. As her eyes refocused in the dim, presumably early dawn or evening light, she caught sight of a figure crumpled in a heap about ten feet from her current position. Rushing over, she bent down beside them, gently turning them over onto their side. The person – now recognizable as Dr. Mortensen – was unconscious, with several cuts and a few faint bruises already appearing on his face. She carefully rolled him completely over, and was about to do an assessment of his injuries when she heard a moan somewhere behind her.

She got up and looked over in the general direction of the sound, and saw a figure slowly righting itself upwards about twenty feet away from her, back towards the gate. As it straightened and stretched out its limbs, she sighed with relief, recognizing the figure as her commanding officer.

"Sir!" she called out, raising her hand to gesture him over.

"Carter?" he responded, securing his pack and making his way over to her. "How are you?"

"A little banged up, and I think my wrist might be sprained, but fine. You?"

He shrugged. "Fine, my back took the brunt of it. Not like I need it for anything. How's Mortensen?"

She frowned. "Not good. He's unconscious. I haven't had a chance to check out his injuries, but it's not a quick fix. We have to get back to Earth."

He looked around, taking in his surroundings as he nodded his agreement. "Yeah, where exactly are we? I mean, that lightning bolt hit the gate right before you and the doc jumped through. Is this another Antarctica situation?"

"I think so, sir," she replied, already feeling uneasy. By the time she'd realized what had happened to the gate, it was too late – she was already in motion, plunging through the event horizon and hoping beyond hope that Earth is where she'd find herself.

But that's not what happened.

"Sir, we need to get him back. I suggest we start looking for the DHD."

"Right. Let's get on that," he responded, and they both stepped away in order to give themselves more space in which to conduct their searches.

Fifteen minutes passed, and they reconvened next to the prone form of Dr. Mortensen. "Did you find anything?" she asked, as she knelt down to her unconscious colleague, checking his vitals once more.

"Nada. You?"

She finished her ministrations, and then moved to stand up. Grimacing, she grabbed her ankle in pain as she pushed herself upwards, teetering as she went vertical. A hand reached out to steady her, and she was thankful for the support.

"I didn't find anything, period. No structures, no landmarks. Only the cliffs by that body of water, and forest to either side of it."

He nodded grimly, and then gestured over to the nearest patch of trees, along the interface between forest edge and a former high water line. "Nothing else we can do for now; we'll have to wait for full light to conduct further searches. Let's set up a base camp area, and see what we can do for Mortensen. Do you think we can move him?"

She shrugged, unable to respond concretely. "I can't tell the state of his injuries here, but I think we might have to risk it. We can't leave him in the open like this."

Her commanding officer nodded. "Agreed. Alright, gather your things, Carter. Let's set up camp."

That was the end of day one.

* * *

><p>Day six started innocently enough. They'd managed to set up a decent defensible position: still close enough to the Stargate, they were protected on one flank by a large boulder and on another by the seaside cliffs. They'd set up both the tents they had packed, making one the sleeping quarters and the other a makeshift mess slash infirmary.<p>

Over the past few days, she'd gone back to the gate several times to try and establish why the DHD was missing as well as work on her theories for their being redirected to this planet instead of Earth. The two of them (Mortensen only being conscious for a few hours a day) had decided that it must be a similar situation to when they'd been re-directed to the Antarctic gate. Since they had yet to locate the DHD (not for lack of trying), they'd decided to wait it out for the time being, especially with Mortensen seriously injured. Daniel had figured out how to solve the problem before; it stood to reason that they would approach the problem from a similar angle again.

As far as supplies went, Colonel O'Neill had managed to rig together a fish net of sorts, and had been scooping out some unlucky water denizens from a nearby estuary. After cooking one thoroughly and waiting to see if any ill effects would follow, they'd decided to eat as much fish as possible in order to preserve what rations they had. Weather was a fickle thing, and should the temperature drop or a storm surge forward, they wanted to be as prepared as they could be.

She'd gotten up in the morning, checked on Mortensen, who they'd positioned in the middle so that they could check on his status during the night if need be, then headed out into the new dawn light to start her day. She'd taken to checking the gate first thing in the morning, mostly out of habit rather than necessity, maintaining some sort of structure to her newly unstructured life. Colonel O'Neill was already awake and down by the water of the nearby estuary, washing up as well as cleaning some of their clothes and cooking utensils.

"Morning, Carter," he said without turning, continuing his work on his uniform jacket.

"Good morning, sir" she replied, taking a seat beside him on the rocks. "Nice weather today, isn't it?"

He stopped for a moment, taking a second to look around. "It's just peachy," he responded, then went back to his scrubbing. "What's on the menu for today?"

"Well, I was thinking that we might want to venture out to that meadow you re-conned yesterday, the one with the berry bushes and fruit trees. I'm still feeling fine after eating a piece of that yellow fruit you brought back, so I was thinking we might want to go and collect some while they are still ripe. We'll still need to be cautious, but it might to nice to diversify our sources of nutritional intake."

He looked up at her and grinned. "Getting a little sick of seafood, Carter?"

She smiled back at him. "Never was a huge fan to begin with, sir."

She helped him with the last few items that needed cleaning, and then they headed back together to their camp. Her CO went to hang the clothing items from the line they'd strung to two nearby trees, while she went back into the tent to check on Mortensen. She'd hadn't been in there a minute before her voice, shaky despite herself, called out to her companion outside.

"Sir! Get in here!"

He rushed over, dropping the last few items onto the ground as he ran inside, hand unconsciously gripping the butt of his P-90. He found her bent over Mortensen, her ear hovering over his mouth, her fingers pressed against his neck. When she straightened up to face him, he saw how white she had gone, how hard she fought to keep her hands from shaking.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, nearly whispering, "he's gone."

They buried him next to the cliffs, in a grave covered by stones and a makeshift cairn. Carter watched as O'Neill took the dog tags and held them in his hands for a long moment, before they both walked back, the silence heavy and oppressive between them.

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><p>Day thirty-seven was much like day thirty-six. In fact, it was much like day thirty-six, and thirty-five, and thirty-four before that. A rainstorm had descended upon them unannounced, and had long since overstayed its welcome. They'd managed to connect the two tents together before the rain had really set in, effectively doubling their living space for the time being. They ventured out only sparingly, aware that illness in conditions like this would be a difficult and dangerous thing. Luckily, they'd been stockpiling dried fruit and fish for the last week, so they weren't short on supplies. The rain provided all the drinking water they'd ever need.<p>

Like most people with highly structured lives do, they established for themselves a working routine. Each morning, they'd rouse from a night of halfway decent sleep to make themselves "breakfast" – essentially the same thing as every meal – dried fish and fruit. She would make some tea from herbs they'd found along the creek bed, and they eat together in silence, staring out into the rain. They then proceeded to a series of exercises – mostly used to keep themselves sane – first some stretching followed by light boxing, and then, four days in, followed by some yoga that she'd slowly conned him into trying. Constrained by space, they worked out as long as they could, relishing the release of pent-up energy and stress their confinement in such a small space incurred.

After that, they usually spoke for a while, often playing a memory game or simply chatting about life. They'd do some maintenance work on their weapons and do a quick inventory of supplies, making sure they were prepared for a possible (probable?) additional day of rain. Daylight on this planet only seemed to last about eight hours or so, so when the light started to fade, they'd eat their last meal of the day, clean the dishes they used, and settle into their respective sleeping bags for the night. They made sure to never use their flashlights if they could help it, saving the batteries for if and when they needed them. They had started off posting watches in the first days after their arrival, but they'd abandoned that when the rain came.

"Night, Carter," he said, turning over onto his side and facing the door of the tent.

"Goodnight, sir," he heard her reply, before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He awoke minutes or hours later, he wasn't quite sure, eyes opening to find the dark space of their tent. He could hear the rain falling down onto the top of the tent, the sound a reassuring companion, a constant element in their lives. But he could hear more than that, he realized, as he slowly firmed his grasp on consciousness. There was another sound softer and without rhythm, a gasping, half-formed sob.

He rolled over onto his opposite side, and reached out a tentative hand to the figure beside him. "Carter?" he whispered as he touched her back lightly.

Immediately, he felt her stiffen up, and the noises immediately stopped. "Sir?" she croaked, her voice broken by tears and anguish.

His heart gave a sudden pang, and he was both surprised and irritated by it – he'd fought for years to suppress those feelings, to keep them imprisoned deep inside himself. But he couldn't help it. It was her.

"Carter, what's wrong?" he asked, though he figured he had a pretty good handle on what the issue at hand might be.

"It's nothing, sir," she murmured, her back still to him. "I'm fine."

"Cart-_Sam_, look at me," he urged her, turning his light touch on her back to a firm grasp, turning her over onto her side. Even in the limited light, he could see the puffiness of her cheeks, the wetness underneath her eyes.

"Sam..." he said again, and that seemed to break her resolve.

"I'm sc-scared, sir," she began, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. "I'm scared that we won't be able to go home again."

He was silent a moment, locking his eyes with hers, before he reached forward with his other arm and pulled her closer. Still separated by their respective sleeping bags, he slid an arm under her head and placed the other one over her protectively. "C'mere," he whispered, pulling her against him.

He held he like that until she fell asleep, her head nestled between his arm and chest, protected against the world.


	2. Day Fifty

Day fifty was a landmark for them. Fifty days on this planet, alone except for each other. Fifty days without contact from Earth, from the Tok'ra, even the Go'auld. They had seen no forms of intelligent life in either the ocean or the sky, in the meadows or the trees. They had spent fifty days here trying to maintain the semblance of ordinary life and their normal order.

Slowly, though, they were failing at their pretence.

It started with the first day that she, while they sat outside for the first time since the rain stopped, leaned against his shoulder and stayed there for several moments. Time seemed to stop, as they both sought solace in the slight touching of their bodies, the feel of another person pressed against them. He could of stayed like that forever if she hadn't pulled away to point out a rainbow forming in the distance, illuminated by the rays of the sun and suspended over the waves on the sea.

They were both trying so hard to keep things the way they had been, the way it was supposed to be – on Earth, they were bound by regulations and by respect and by honour. But out here, beyond the gaze of any prying eyes or any military court, it was becoming harder and harder to remember why they were supposed to be apart. The more time they spent out here, the less they were able to go on pretending that all they were was a commanding officer and his second-in-command.

With the rain having abated, they filled their day with other tasks. She had gone to the gate and made a simple cairn with some of the rocks they had collected from the rocky shoreline of the salt-water sea. She'd pinned one of the SGC patches from Mortensen's uniform to the small structure with another stone; hopefully if any rescue came during the night or during a storm they would still be able to confirm the presence of herself and O'Neill. Otherwise she spent time drying more fruit and meat; they'd decided to use their guns once a week to catch one of the local mammal-like creatures, a house-cat sized creature that looked halfway between a rabbit and a beaver. O'Neill had decided to brand it a Beabbit, and the name had stuck ever since.

For his part, her CO had occupied himself the creation of a shower-like device for their use. Since the end of the two weeks of rain, the sun had emerged even brighter than before, raising temperatures to nearly 30 degrees Celsius. The colonel had managed to find a roughly-bowl shaped chunk of wood in the forest behind their camp, and he'd spent the better part of three days carving three small holes in the bottom of the bowl as well as rigging a system to raise and suspend it from a nearby tree. Every morning he'd fill it with water and let the sun's rays heat it to a surprisingly warm level. Once one of them decided to take a shower, they'd simply stand underneath, reach up and remove the flat stone placed over the holes, and enjoy the closest thing they could to a shower.

She _had_ noticed, though, that they both had the unusual habit of wandering far away into the woods or over to the cliffs whenever either of them decided to partake in their primitive cleaning ritual. The two of them, it seemed, were both so worried about keeping up their pretences that they wouldn't even be in the vicinity of their unclothed teammate.

Today though, on such an auspicious occasion such as this, she decided to hell with their routine.

"I'm going for a swim," she abruptly announced, while they were both working on their own projects, basking in the light of the midday sun.

"Now?" the colonel asked, still looking down at the makeshift arrow he was hell-bent on carving.

"Yeah," she answered, rising to her feet and putting down the fishing rod she'd been working on.

She started walking towards the gully that would lead her down to the beach along the sea, pausing only to look back and smile at him. "Coming, sir?"

He looked up at her strangely, as if trying to get a sense on what exactly she was trying to accomplish. "Sure...?" he answered, putting down the half-formed arrow and replacing the knife in its case along his belt.

They walked down towards the water, taking their time along the sometimes-rocky path. Since the beach was effectively walled up by the cliffs and since it had rained for so long, they'd only been down to the level of the beach a few times, usually to gather rocks or look for any sort of useful material the tide might have brought in.

With the increasingly nice weather, and her feeling of idleness only intensifying with time, Sam finally couldn't resist the tug of the water. With the sun on their backs and nothing but time on their hands, she wanted only to jump into the sea and feel the tide pull at her, feel the waves glide over her skin.

As they reached the bottom of the path they'd established, the colonel turned to her. "Alright, until we get a handle on tidal conditions here, I think we should stick close to shore for a bit. Maybe wading for a bit or –"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before Carter yanked off her uniform pants and jacket, discarding her clothing items on the shoes she'd already removed. Down to just a regulation shirt and underwear, she grinned at him in a strange way, and headed full tilt for the water.

He stared after her, utterly confused. "Carter! What's gotten into you? Be careful of the- oh, for cryin' out loud..."

As he pulled off his shoes, then pants, then jacket and shirt, he couldn't help but wonder if she'd finally lost it. Fifty days lost on a planet, away from everything they'd ever known, and without any recourse or option for contacting those they'd left behind. He'd seen it before.

He walked towards the water, deciding to take it a bit more cautiously. Putting a toe in gingerly, he flinched as he adjusted to the difference in temperature, and then smiled as he realized that the water, in fact, was quite warm. "It's not Aruba, but I'll take it."

He can see Carter about ten feet in front of him, looking like a blonde-haired dolphin. The smile on her face only served to make him grin even more, as he continued to watch her as he walked further into the waves. The way she moved without abandon, as if the past days and weeks of adhering to protocol in the face of an uncertain fate had finally gotten to her, driving her to shuck off responsibility and duty just for this moment now, to feel liberated and carefree once more.

"C'mon, sir, the water's fine!" she called out to him as she surfaced, water streaming down her face.

"I'm not as fast as I used to be, Carter," he replied, but he was grinning as he waded in.

"You're not _that_ old, sir," she rebutted, moving forward to splash him. She was like a different person out here...

"Hey!" he called out as the water hit him, and he leapt forward, throwing himself into the oncoming wave, reaching out to grab Carter's wrist as she made to splash him again.

She yelped in surprise and pulled back, narrowly evading capture. He fell straight into the water, submerging himself completely, and it felt so _good_, so free. Surfacing, he turned and positioned himself on his back, staring up at the sun.

"Fantastic idea, Carter," he said, as he looked over at her

"Thanks, sir," she replied, her smile even brighter than before.

They stayed like that for hours, floating and swimming and splashing each other, enjoying the heat of the day and refreshing power of the water.

* * *

><p>Day seventy-one was, like most others, a quiet one.<p>

They had taken to going on a run together in the mornings, doing repetitions of an (est.) one kilometre route. They were still loath to go too far from the gate; should they get into trouble, or get injured, or fall prey to some greater threat deeper in the forest, they would be too far from the source of their potential rescue. After their run, they'd take turns showering, get some tea and breakfast ready, and then go about their daily routines.

Sometimes they'd go fishing, other times they'd wander over to the meadow they'd found when they first arrived, gathering up fruit and a couple of plants they'd generously classified as "vegetables". They'd do their inventory, perform some basic maintenance on the tents and the equipment, clean their weapons, wash their clothes, etc. With the persistence of the nice weather conditions, they'd decided to put away their jackets and socks/shoes for the eventual possibility of colder times. Ten weeks into their sojourn on this planet, they were beginning to see the end to adapt their plans, to prepare for the long haul.

Day seventy-one, though, was also the first occasion of their attempt at hair cutting. For the most part, they'd decided (or time had decided for them, more like) to let their hair grow long. The colonel still had two razors in his pack, and he used them occasionally when he'd decided that his old man of the woods beard had overstayed its welcome. However, he found the longer his hair got, the more annoyed he became, so he'd finally broken down and asked Carter to cut his hair for him.

"I'm really not great at this, sir," she told him, even as she made him sit on a relatively flat rock out near the cliffs.

"Well, Carter, as long as you don't ridicule me too much in front of the other kids, I think we'll be okay."

She grinned, though with his back to her, he couldn't see it. "Yes,sir."

As she started her work, her smile faded, and she cleared her throat somewhat anxiously.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Carter?"

She took a deep breath. "Was it like this the last time, sir? When you were stuck on Edora?"

He was silent for a long moment, the snapping of the scissors the only sound in the quiet morning air. "A little bit," he answered, after a long pause.

"How so?" she prompted, after it became evident he wasn't going to elaborate.

He sighed. "Well, I mean, I wasn't as alone as we are out here. There were some of the villagers, and we had solid roofs over our heads, fields to plough, work to do. And every day I went out to the gate to dig or stare or just be near it, knowing that you were working on getting me home."

She continued to cut at his locks as she nodded her understanding. "So it's harder this time, then? Because it's just us?"

He thought about it for a long moment, and then he made to turn to her. She stopped cutting, pulling the scissors back and looking down at him.

When he looked back up at her, she could see the pain in his eyes, the emotion bubbling under the surface. "It's not harder, Carter," he said, nearly whispering. "Last time was way harder. Because I wasn't with you."

She stared down at him then, as a part of her leaped to hear those words aloud, vindicated in their aural presence. But another part of her, so rigid and so regimented after years of practice, recoiled at the sentiment, rejecting it. They were colleagues. Teammates. Team leader and second-in-command.

"Sir...?" she said uneasily.

He looked away then, and turned back around. "Yeah, Carter. I know."

She continued to cut his hair in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts, alone at the edge of the world.


	3. Day Seventy Eight

**Thanks for the feedback, everyone! It is really appreciated. :)**

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><p>On day seventy-eight, he announced to her that it was time to build a house.<p>

They'd been here nearly three months, and since it stood to reason that the weather wouldn't stay gloriously warm forever, they'd need a more solid structure than their hardy field tents to call home. She agreed with him, and they set themselves to work, using the small hatchet that he'd had in his kit. She was quite grateful that they had learned from their past "experiences" through the gate: since the first time they'd been lost in Antarctica, the packs and their contents had evolved significantly. There were small tents in each pack, a field medical kit, sleeping bags and, more importantly, more survival gear than ever before. Pots, a few utensils, a hatchet, water treatment tablets, anti-histamines (courtesy of Daniel and their experiences in the Land of the Light), a canister of fuel for the one-burner stove, and much more.

It was slow going with only the hatchet between them: it took several hours to slowly work their way through of the tree trunks, but they each took their turns, and slowly it all started to come together. It wasn't going to be a huge house, more a small log cabin, but it would be enough to provide them adequate shelter should the weather turn and winter come.

"Ever seen Witness?" he asked her, as they worked on dragging the newest felled tree to their building site.

"Witness, sir?" she asked, breathing hard as she pulled.

"Yeah, that Harrison Ford movie. All these Amish get together to put a barn up. It takes them all of five minutes to raise it from nothing to fully finished," he frowned, pausing. "At least that's what the montage made it look it."

She laughed. "I'd take an Amish barn-raising right about now, sir."

He huffed as he adjusted his grip. "So would I."

By day ninety-three, they'd established the walls of their future refuge. After dragging the last log over to the camp for the day, he headed over to the open-roofed structure, gesturing to her to come inside.

"So I'm thinking kitchen in this corner, maybe a separate island for added prep space and for entertaining? Big screen TV over here, that's non-negotiable..."

She grinned, as she watched him wave his arms around the small space, pointing to things that clearly were not and could not be there. "We'll be lucky to get all of our gear in here, sir," she remarked, studying the dimensions of the one room structure.

He grabbed her by the arm, and took her by the shoulder. "Ah, c'mon Carter, where's your sense of imagination? It'll just be a work in progress."

She smiled at him, and then doubled over as she began to cough.

"Carter?" he asks, all mirth gone from his voice.

"I- I'm alri-right sir," she rasped, though her lungs and throat begged to differ. She'd been feeling a little under the weather for some time, but she'd hoped against hope that it was just fatigue, or stress, or... something other than illness.

"C'mon," he said, taking her arm, more gently this time. "You need to rest."

Reluctantly, she let him guide her out of the room, back over to the familiar confines of their tent.

* * *

><p>Day ninety-seven was remarkably similar to day ninety-six.<p>

She'd been overtaken by the cold virus (or whatever it was, on this unfamiliar planet) fairly quickly. She'd been cooped up in the tent for days, exiting only to use their limited facilities or stretch her long-suffering muscles. At first, it had only been a cough and a slight fever, but it had progressed to an increasingly dry hack, a bone-numbing chill, and a (at times) dangerously high fever.

The colonel had been, by any measure, the greatest caretaker she'd had in a long time – probably since she'd been a small child. He was with her whenever she was awake, bringing her soup and tea, adjusting her pillows, checking her vitals, and so on. He even helped her, at the height of her symptoms, with changing out of her fever-soaked clothes, though she had been too sick to remember to feel embarrassed. He held her at night when she shivered from fever, though she repeated warned him to stay away lest he catch it too.

She was feeling better now though, and with the return of better health came the recollection of certain _things_ she may have said while incapacitated by high fever and poor health. She could feel herself blushing as she recalled them, thankful that the redness across her cheeks from her high temperature hid her embarrassment.

"Sir?" she called out timidly as her commanding officer entered the tent.

"Carter!" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he turned to look at her. "You're feeling better, I take it?"

"Yes, sir, thank you."

"Good," he replied, brushing the dirt and sawdust off of his hands. He'd continued working on the "house" while she'd been ill, organizing the wood needed to construct the roof while she was asleep.

"Sir?" she asked again, watching as he sat down beside her.

"Yeah?"

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Did I, uh, say anything interesting while I was out of it?"

He grinned at her. "You might have."

She grimaced, and turned back to look at him. "I was afraid of that."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Major. You weren't exactly yourself."

"I know, sir, but I want you to know-"

"Sam," he said, stopping her in the middle of her sentence. "Let's talk about this when you're feeling one hundred percent. You need more rest and water. Let's work on those first, okay?"

She nodded, defeated. "Okay."

She drank the water he offered her quickly, before lying down again and closing her yes, all too aware that both of them seemed equally unwilling to discuss what feelings they had between them.

* * *

><p>On the one hundredth day, she made a pact with herself to talk to him about it.<p>

One hundred days since they'd arrived here. One hundred days since they'd last seen home. One hundred days since they'd had to answer to the rules and regulations of a planet far away from here, yet still they found themselves inextricably bound to them.

They'd spent this anniversary in relative solitude, each of them taking some time to themselves to work alone. She'd gone to the gate in the morning and made a small speech to the inanimate device, telling it to get its act together and to get them home. She was glad he wasn't around to see that, to see her give in to the anger and the frustration and the grief.

She'd gone over to help him in the afternoon with the roof; it was ready to hoisted up over the main structure and finally giving a true form to their new home. It had taken a lot of work as well as some creative jury-rigging of a pulley system, but they'd managed to do it, and had treated themselves to one of the chocolate bar rations they still had left.

"Let's have a celebratory dinner, Carter," he told her, as they sat inside the structure, under shade of their new roof. "To the new roof and to one hundred days on this far-flung piece of rock!"

She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "What do you want to have, sir?" she asked, looking over at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her mischievously. "I'm thinking a couple of nice steaks, some baked potatoes, a loaf of nice bread..."

"... chocolate cake and a nice bottle of wine," she finished for him, stating the last two longingly.

A long silence passed between them, as they fantasized about all the things they missed, the food and the places and the people.

He cleared his throat. "So, fish, fruit and tea?"

She sighed. "Sounds good."

After they'd finished their meal and put away their dishes, they'd gone out to the cliffs and sat along the rocks, watching as dusk overtook them. The sun hung low in the sky as they sat in silence, watching the waves roll in with the tide.

"Sir?" she said softly, almost unwilling to break the comfortable quiet between them.

"Mhmm?" he answered, still looking out at the water, lost in thought.

"I know what I said to you when I was sick," she blurted out, still embarrassed.

She could see his lips curl slightly at the side, though he still faced the water. "You do?"

Again, she couldn't help but grimace. "Yeah. I, uh, I think I told you that..."

He stayed silent.

"...that I love you," she finished lamely, looking down at her hands.

A long silence passed between them once more, but this time it was one full with anticipation and tension, a loaded silence in the fading light.

"I love you too," he answered softly, turning to face her. "I've loved you a long time."

She looked at him, uncomfortable. "What do we do?" she whispered. "I can't keep doing this. I can't look at you and be around you all the time feeling the way I feel. But I don't want to have it all taken away. If they open that gate tomorrow to take us home, I know we can't be together. I can't reconcile those two things. Can you?"

"No," he said simply.

An angry tear slid down her cheek. "I don't know what to do..." she murmured, hugging her knees to her chest as she felt the grief rise up in her chest.

"I do," he said softly, his voice almost lost in the twilight air. He reached a hand over to her, and wiped the tear off of her cheek. Taking two fingers, he raised her chin upwards, and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Jack?" she breathed, the name unfamiliar on her tongue.

He pulled her forward then, and brought his lips against hers, and suddenly it was like dawn had come upon them, blasting the night into oblivion. She moved her lips against his, and it was like everything she'd ever hoped for, to feel him against her in a moment absent of infection or manipulation or lies. Far too quickly, she felt him pull away, and her eyes met his once more.

"Last chance, Sam," he said, locking his gaze with hers.

She answered him by crashing her lips against his, grabbing him by the neck as his arms enveloped her, as all other sensation was lost to the world and it was just them, hanging in the void, beyond any care in the world.


	4. Day One Hundred and One

**A/N: Thanks again, everyone, for the fantastic feedback! :) It helps to fuel this writing addiction, when I honestly should be working on my thesis. Oh well!**

A brief note about this chapter: it is part of the reason I rated this story "T". Sensuality ensues. Nothing explicit, but the "T" label is appropriate.

**Enjoy! **

* * *

><p>Day hundred carried over into day one hundred and one.<p>

She didn't remember noticing the light fade away to nothing, nor did she notice the temperature dropping until he pulled his lips away from hers and rubbed her arms gently. "You're cold, Sam," he remarked softly, and only then did she regain enough awareness to notice that the night had finally enveloped them.

"You too," she replied, noting the goosebumps on his forearms.

He gently helped her to her feet, and they both took a moment to stretch out their limbs, having been stationary in their sitting positions on the rocks for way too long. They made their way back to the camp slowly, silently – somehow, they both knew that each other needed a few moments to think things through.

"Si-Jack," she started, catching her faux pas in time. "I want this. I want you. But what do we do if we go home?"

He stopped his movement then, only a few paces from the opening of their tent, and looked back at her, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "First of all, it's not "if" we go home, but _when_. And secondly, we'll just cross that bridge when we come to it."

She nodded, and then realized belatedly that he most likely couldn't see her in the dark. "Yes, sir," she answered, cringing as she noted what she'd called him.

He chuckled. "C'mon."

They made their way into the tent and got ready for the night. As she took off her daytime clothes and put on her sleeping attire, she couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"What's up, Carter?" he asked, even his habits sticking hard.

She grinned as she made her way to her sleeping bag. "It's just- whenever I thought about this, about-" she stated, gesturing between the two of them, "I always imagined it would be, y'know, a lot more... fast-paced."

He grinned and laughed along with her. "Whenever you thought about this?"

She blushed, instantly embarrassed. "Oh, god, sir I meant only that- I mean, what I'm trying to say is-"

He finished changing his clothes, and joined her in their sleeping space. "Relax, Sam, I know what you mean. If we're being honest, I think about that time when you pinned me against that bench in the locker room _way _more than I'm supposed to. Now, I realize you're not wearing that nice little cut-off shirt again, but I think we can make do..."

She could feel her face redden even more, and she mentally chided herself for feeling like a fourteen year-old girl. "You – you've thought about this? I mean, us?"

He looked at her, his eyes more hooded and darker than she seemed to remember. "Of course," he said, his voice a little deeper than usual.

"Oh, good," was all she could think to say before his lips were on hers again, his arms wrapping around her as he lay beside her on the floor. They stayed like that for several minutes, harkening back to their moments on the cliffs, lost in each other's touch.

"Sam," he said, and with a shiver she realized it was more like a growl. "Do you want this?"

"Yes..." she breathed, and he needed no other instructions.

Suddenly she was moving, and with an instinctual "oomph" she found herself with her back to the floor, pinned down by her commanding officer. _No, _she told herself, _it's Jack. Only Jack._

His hands moved all over her body, and in one of her last clear moments she reached out and turned out the flashlight. No need to waste the batteries, and she knew well enough that this type of exploration could be accomplished very well in the dark.

She'd always thought that _if_ she'd ever found herself in this position, enveloped in his arms, that it would have moved a lot faster, been a lot more frenzied. After years of pent up emotion and longing and frustration, she'd thought that all she'd wanted was to feel him near her and with her and in her, but that was simply not the case. Maybe it was the fact that they'd waited so long. Maybe it was because they both knew what was at stake.

Maybe it was because they both wanted to remember everything, in case this was the only time.

As he helped her take off the shirt she'd just put on, she returned the favour, removing his t-shirt with a smile. She could see the look in his eyes, even in the dim light, as his gaze raked over her body, and she rejoiced to see such unrestrained desire in his eyes.

"Sam..." he growled again, and she felt it reverberate all the way down her spine.

His hands on her body felt like everything she'd ever wanted, and she honestly couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. She moved her palms across his chest and onto his back, and through the fog of her current state of mind she could still feel the scars on his skin, reminders of a difficult life.

His lips were all over her body, and she groaned to feel his mouth on her skin, but yet she still reached down and pulled his chin up to hers.

"I want you," she whispered, looking him dead in the eyes.

He answered by engulfing her mouth with his, all his passion, all his desire, all his love there in his kiss.

Suddenly all her clothes were gone, and it was just skin between them now, skin and the cool night air bringing respite to their fevered skin. He stopped once more and wordlessly met her eyes; she met his question by wrapping her legs around his waist. He groaned to feel her so close.

"Sam..."

"Jack..."

And as her hips finally met his, Sam Carter ceased to remember anything, living only in this moment between them, beyond time and space and thought.

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><p>Day one hundred and two was the day she'd realized that everything had gone wrong.<p>

The previous day had been one of the happiest in her life. She'd woken in the morning next to the man she'd loved for so long, her head against her chest and his arm across her belly. They'd roused themselves slowly, smiling to each other in that comfortable, safe way – she didn't feel any of that anxiety she often felt with new lovers, the type where she was concerned about the state of her hair, her breath, her body when they awoke to the bright light and clarity of the morning. He'd already seen all of these things – he'd seen her at her absolute worst, he'd seen her in sickness and in injury and in the strangest states possible. And she'd seen the same of him.

They ate breakfast slowly, their languid pace taking over control of their day. They sat outside with their tea and their fruit, leaning against each other in the already warm morning air.

"So?" he said slyly, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" she answered innocently, though she fought against the grin that tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Was it everything you hoped for? The love-making of your dreams? The time of your life?" he called out grandly, embellishing every word a little more than the last.

She laughed at him, and he laughed with her. She leaned against him, putting her head on his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close.

"Yeah," she answered softly, "it was."

He smiled at her then, and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Yeah. I get that a lot."

She punched him lightly in the shoulder, and he smirked at her, and before she knew it, they were rolling in the morning air, playfully wrestling under the light of the sun. It was like being a teenager again, lost in that first love that takes you over, making it seem like the only thing that matters is you and him, alone in the world. It was a feeling that she loved, and one that she never wanted to forget.

Day one hundred and two, though, took that all away from her.

In the morning she'd gone out to sit by the gate, and she hadn't gone back. Minutes or hours later, he had come running over, kneeling down beside her and taking her hand in his.

"Sam?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "What's wrong?"

She looked towards him, but her eyes didn't focus fully, and he could see where the tears had dried on her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy.

"Sam?" he asked again. He checked her quickly, looking for injuries.

"It's not fair," she whispered, and he looked at her again.

"What's not, Sam?" he said softly, taking a seat beside her once he was satisfied she had no pressing physical injuries.

"We're all alone here," she said softly, taking his hand and holding it against her leg. "We're all alone, and we can't go home, but I finally, _finally_ get to have you."

He waited for her to continue, honestly confused. Wasn't the best thing about this far-flung rock the fact that they finally were together? Wasn't the only upside to being away from everything they'd ever known that they were at least here with each other?

"When I was walking here today, all I could think about was how happy I was. For the first time in almost four months, I was happy again. Because of you," she said, and her eyes finally met his.

"Me too," he answered, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

But that seemed to have the opposite effect of what he'd intended, for her eyes filled with tears once more and her face scrunched up in visible agony.

"Sam?"

"When was the last time we went for medical check-ups, Jack?" she inquired, switching tracks abruptly.

He looked at her quizzically. "God, I don't know. Four months ago? Five? Sam, what does this have –"

"Mine was six months ago," she said, interrupting him. "I was supposed to go a week after we got here."

Realization dawned on him, abruptly and harshly. "Oh, god Sam... I didn't think – "

She met his eyes again. "I didn't either Jack, it's not your fault. But now all I can think about is what if I was pregnant. How could I dare bring a child into this world? Sure, we'd all be happy at first. But when we start getting old and he has to take care of us, what then? What about when we leave him here alone on this rock, doomed to solitude for the rest of his life? Jack, I can't-" She was sobbing now, the tears streaming down her face, and he couldn't think of anything else but to pull her tight against him, enveloping her in his arms.

"It's not fair," she whispered into his chest, once her tears had abated. "All I want is to be with you, Jack. Maybe that does mean a family someday, I don't know. But now all I can think about is a child – our child – alone on this rock forever, and I ca- can't stop feeling so guilty."

"I know," he said softly into her hair, and he could feel the fear pulling at his heart just like hers, and all he could see in his head was Charlie, alone on this planet until the end of time.

They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other's arms, silent and sombre under the tantalizing shadow of the stargate.


End file.
